There is no way to backdate entrys so far and I wanted to add in some things I had written on another journal site. Please forgive me if this post throws you off.

Crossing To The Other Side :: Thursday. November 8th, 2001

Traffic now seems to be a thing of the past here in the Bay Area. No, don't chastise me yet. What I'm referring to is the traffic on the Bay Bridge. It's practically non-existant these days. Yes, there are still cars, trucks, vehicles as it were crossing the bridge. There's just not enough for me to refer to it as traffic. I know traffic. I abhor traffic. I moved to the city to avoid traffic.

This simple avoidance of traffic runs my life in a sense. If it's over the bridge, I'm not having any of that. There's gotta be something better to do in the city. It's the city after all. East Bay? Where is that? In fact, it had gotten so bad I was referring to every where else as "Not The City".

And as for avoiding it, it seemed it was always there. No matter if it was one in the afternoon or one in the morning. If it wasn't commuters, it's bridge work going on. And not mention, those damn metering lights. So now, that the threat of an attack on our local bridges looms over our heads or perhaps under our tires...Do I avoid the bridge? Hell no. What's a bomb compared to traffic? Yeah, you can die but then you can in traffic too. Of boredom...

For me, it is the eternal hell. Traffic is the room you can never leave. If I had to make a comparison, I'd say Traffic is the embodiment of what Sartre was writing about in No Exit. Well, maybe I'm making rash comparisons...but what the hell!

Who cares. This is me we're talking about here, after all.

And it's me, driving across the bridge. Doing outrageous speeds never before accomplished at this time of day! Congratulating myself on going against another's better judgement. Reveling, well not exactly reveling, but I have the sunroof open and the CD cranked up a notch more than normal. If I have to drive across the bridge, I will. Goddamnit. That'll show them.

Wait, those National Guardsmen are kinda cute. Would they think I was a terrorist if I just stopped to chat them up a bit? Geez, uniforms will get me everytime. I thought I was focusing on my one woman crusade to combat the evils of terrorism here. But where in the course of this drive, did it get to be about a political statement anyhow? This drive was supposed to be about something bigger than that. This drive was an attempt to help a friend beat off the horrifying effects of man vs. self. Of course, self will win out. It just takes a greater attempt by friend. And that's where I come in. Driving over so-called doomed bridge in order to bring goodness and light to a soul in torment. That and lunch at Ikea. See, the things one will risk in order to save the day and have lunch.

Lunch. Both a mixture of Swedish practicality and the futility of navigating Ikea's storewide strategy. It's like if they can get you lost long enough, you will give in and buy something ensuring your ability to be organized upon re-entry. Good old Swedish common sense. Well, we had two things going for us today. we found the dining room and I'm Swedish enough to combat their strange psychology of shopping.

Once seated with our Ligonberry juice and entrees, we could really get down to business. Which, of course, was completely avoiding the obvious. Avoiding the issue, the trouble, the problem, the man. Instead why not talk about the bridge? Discuss the finer points of how I would die. Why I think it would be quick and somewhat painless. Lie to ourselves that it was no big deal. Ponder how one should really drive next to the big trucks because they would make a much bigger explosion than a car if indeed they were carrying the bomb. Was this any sicker than the issue at hand?

Well, we could always talk about my horrid little cell phone and we did. We talked about her problems with Mazda and this piece of shit SUV that she just purchased. Mazda called while we were eating. I called them fuckers. It seemed to make her feel a little better. Try using the word yourself sometime. I highly recommend it. Better than Rolaids I say.

We finished up our meal and made our way for the exit. Only to be caught up in the consumer driven practicality of all that is Ikea. I had made it across the bridge. The likelihood of making it back was pretty high. Purchasing something would not be in vain. I fought off the urge. Instead I urged Coleen to buy the first thing she saw. A mousepad. Vicarious shopping.

We left Ikea that day with a Mousepad worth fifty cents feeling a little more alive. Feeling like we had a little more of a handle on our problems. Feeling like we could conquer man vs. self...Okay, hoping that battle would play itself out or over or just fade away.

On the way to the car, I said so really what are you going to do? End it this weekend? Keep it going? Or just let it become a conversation, then just a phone call, and finally just a memory pricking at you? The later of course.

It's easier I say. I don't know if I agree but it's definitely a choice.

Leaving the parking lot, heading back towards the bridge I think about traffic. I think about man vs. self. And I think about traffic some more. Guess I'm happier without making the easier choice today.